


Nighttide Brume

by BipLing



Series: Nighttide Brume [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Late at Night, M/M, Overnight Shift, Paranormal, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14967572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipLing/pseuds/BipLing
Summary: Gael has been working the night shift at the Nighttide Brume for some time now, working until dawn. He has yet to have a single customer.  That is, until one fateful summer eve.A man he has never seen before enters and simply sits by the window. He does this every single night, getting the exact same order, sitting in the exact same spot. But, something is always different about him.He brushes it off until he realizes no one but him has served, or even heard of this customer. Who is he exactly? What is he? As the nights pass, the line between reality and imagination blur in his head. Is the person he's serving even real?





	1. DARK BREW

The creak of the door signals the start of Gael’s shift, junebugs fluttering in the bright fluorescence of the light above it. He flicks on the store’s lights and a bright white fills his vision. It only exacerbates his headache, a dull throb in the back of his eyes. He still isn’t used to being up for these night shifts, however he is thankful that he has the pleasure of dealing with an empty store.

The coffee shop he works at, The Nighttide Brume, runs twenty four hours a day. He finds it to be pretty strange, but most things are open day and night nowadays. He pulls his apron and visor on, ready for a long, lonely night at work. Normally, they give him a list, but with the excess of seasonal help, he has had a whole lot of nothing to occupy himself with. He’s even resorted to cleaning everything a second time, mostly to keep his hands busy. Only a few weeks in and he has yet to get a single customer. He glances at the bell every now and then, wondering if he’ll ever get to hear that panic-inducing ring. 

A few hours in and he has run out of things to do. Gael leans against the counter, hands cupping his face as he stares at the door. The only noises in the shop are the hum of the air conditioner and the endless tick of the clock above the door. His eyes twitch away for a single moment, the door opening at long last, that unfamiliar chime echoing in his ears. He straightens and faces his potential customer. The first thing he sees are a pair of hazel eyes looking back at him. They’re an unusually bright color, streaks of amber radiating out like rays of sunlight. He gets so lost in them he nearly forgets his usual spiel. “Can I help you, sir?” 

The man snorts, a good-natured grin on his lips. “Yes, you can, actually.” He places a firm hand on the counter as he digs through his jean pocket, retrieving a small piece of paper from his wallet. “My order is usually pretty complicated, so I’ve resorted to writing it down. I hope you don’t mind?” He chuckles. 

“Oh, of course not!” Gael laughs back, mostly out of self-preservation. He glances down at the hand holding out the paper, eyes traveling up his arm, noting the dark cardigan hanging from his frame. “Isn’t it a little bit hot for that?” He takes the neatly folded paper, slowly unfolding it as he speaks. His customer leans against the counter.

“For most people it might be.” 

“In the middle of summer?” 

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m cold-blooded.” 

Gael actually grins at that one, making his drink. He goes slowly, double-checking the list just in case. He would hate to get his only customer’s drink completely wrong, even going an extra mile and adding extra whipped cream. “And the name on the drink?” His sharpie is out at the ready, quickly scrawling out whatever name he gives him. When he’s done, he presents it like one would a dainty rose. The guy slips his fingers around the mug, taking a long moment to glance into his face. His fingers brush against Gael’s. 

“You can let go, you know? I got it.” Gael releases it with a muttered apology, watching as he retires to a seat directly by the window. He leans over the counter, gazing after him. What was his name again? He doesn’t remember what he wrote down. It’s on the tip of his tongue, like an old friend’s name, but at the same time it feels wrong. He rolls his eyes. He’ll just have to get it another time. 

In the meantime, he watches him sip at his coffee, staring out the window at the dark night sky. It’s almost like he’s watching something. His phone sits on the table beside his cup, entirely forgotten about. For most of the night, Gael gets a good view of the back of his head, only catching glimpses of his face as he continues to clean everything a third time. Otherwise, the man’s silhouette is all he can make out.

The overhead light intensifies, the shadows only darkening at the corners of the store, stretching over most of the unused tables. At this point, his headache is killing him, but he has to power through it.  
Time drags on with the addition of his customer, checking in with him every couple minutes to make sure he doesn’t need anything. But, he doesn’t give Gael so much as a glance away from the window, not even to check his phone. Normally people at least take selfies with their drink, but he’s acting as if it isn’t there. The screen remains dark and Gael wonders if it’s dead. He finds the courage to speak up. “So, do you normally come in at this hour?” He asks, hesitant and mousy. 

His customer shifts his eyes over, not even bothering to look at him directly. His tone, however, has the same cordiality as it had before. “Yes, actually. Why do you ask?” His own question seems to have the same fake niceness as Gael’s does. He puts on a grin, swallowing down his nerves. 

“No reason, really. I just haven’t ever seen you in here before. Is this your first time here?”

“No.” His answer is instantaneous and flat. He takes a long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, really? How often do you come in?”

“Often.”

Clearly not often enough for Gael to notice him. He must be lying. Although he’s put off by his vague answers, he doesn’t let it get to him. “Is your drink alright, by the way?”

The man fully looks at him, Gael doing his best to put his scruffy beard and cropped hair to memory. “It’s perfect.” His smile gleams at him and Gael can only hope it’s genuine. He glances at the clock; 4:30 A.M. Almost time for Gael to pack up and head home. 

He finishes the rest of his cleaning up, making sure everything is ready for the morning crew. As he goes to slip off his apron and visor, his customer approaches the counter, placing his empty mug down. “I’ll just leave this here, alright?” He calls into the back. 

“That’s fine! Thanks!” He rushes back to the front to catch a mere glimpse of the door swinging shut behind him, the bell mocking him. He checks the clock again, 4:59 A.M., exactly a minute before he gets off work. Must be a coincidence, maybe he’ll get him the next time. He did say he frequents the place.

As a final task before leaving, he picks up the only mug he’ll wash while here. He takes a brief sniff, an odd scent left behind. It reminds him of the fresh air after a rainstorm, undertones of burnt wood lingering. He looks out the window at the rapidly approaching dawn, unable to recall it raining at all? The AC must have drowned it out. Regardless, it’s time for him to clock out, he can worry about what’s-his-name tomorrow. Maybe he’ll ask some of his coworkers about him?

The moment he walks out the back door, every detail he worked so hard to commit to memory that night fades like smoke.


	2. LIGHT

_August 23_   
_Last night felt like a dream. Or was it one after all? I can hardly remember a single thing and every time I try, it’s like there’s a fog, a block. It's there but not._   
_I remember I had a customer, at least I think I did. He was nice, whatever his name is. I’ll have to actually pay attention to it next time._

Gael slips out of bed onto cool wooden floors, shuffling to the window to adjust the blinds. Warm late afternoon light filters in, the sun close to setting for the night. He woke up a lot later than he anticipated. The walls of his room are a charcoal grey, photographs of his friends and horror movie posters plastered along them. A lone stuffed wolf sits on his chair in the corner, yellow eyes glinting in the light. He rubs sleep from his eyes, loudly yawning. May as well check if anyone’s home, but he doubts it’ll be the case. His mother and sisters always had full schedules and they rarely got to see each other before Gael left for work.  
He makes his way downstairs, the air in the house icy. A large dehumidifier sits in a corner, next to the kitchen counter, humming steadily. He plucks the neon pink post-it note off the microwave with ‘Food Inside’ written in a curly script. His mother thinks he would starve without leftovers and she’s absolutely right. He’s too tired during the day to bother making his own food, choosing to grab something before he starts his shift each night. Gael nukes whatever’s on the plate inside, probably steak from dinner last night.  
Leaning against the dining room table, he settles a vacant stare out at the setting sun, eating bit by bit. Everything outside is bathed in ever-stretching shadows and a sheen of damp rain. He lets out a sigh into the empty house, taking in the last bits of sun. His eyes slip shut, slumping into a comfy chair for a quick nap.


	3. DARK - II

His eyes flutter open and he’s back behind the dimly lit coffee shop counter. How long has he been here? He doesn’t even remember waking up. As he glances at the clock, it flicks to 3 A.M. The bell chimes and Gael anticipates another customer, but when he turns to face them, it’s the same guy from last night. He’s dressed in lighter clothing this time, a simple button up and shorts on. His hair and clothes are damp, the smell of rain clinging to him. Gael’s eye is caught by his customer’s hand held out with the same note in his grip. He makes the same order yet again, neither of them speaking. The hum of the AC is deafeningly loud, muddling everything else.

When he hands over his drink, Gael looks him directly in the eye, their color a dull grey. Were they that color last night? He sits in the same spot once again, transfixed on the view outside the window. Gael falls into his routine of cleaning, the gentle patter of rain picking up outside again. He stands on the other side of the counter, cleaning the glass front. He holds a hand to his forehead, a headache forming at his temples. From behind him, his customer poses a softly-worded question. “How’s your headache?” 

“Hm?” 

“I asked how your headache is.” He pauses. “Did I stutter?” 

Gael stands, glancing over his shoulder back at him. His eyes meet the reflection’s and he freezes. A pair of pitch black eyes stare back at him over the lip of his coffee. A bright flash of lightning illuminates the sky and his pupils glow a bright, neon red. Gael is a deer in headlights, eyes wide, jaw slack. He is going to die in the next few seconds, anticipating to be found painted in his own blood.  
The man turns to face him, leaning into the ring of light. His face is oddly warm compared to the display a few seconds ago, a ghost of a smile on his mouth. His grey eyes are bright with amusement. “So, you going to answer or not?” 

Gael backs up until he’s cornered against the counter, his fingers tightly gripping the edge. “I’m fine!”

“You sure?” He steps closer. 

“Yeah, I’m sure! You don’t have to - uh - come any closer, by the way.” 

He stares Gael straight in the eye, rolling his own. He ignores him and Gael shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch himself die. There’s the shuffle of feet and the sound of a mug being placed on the counter beside him. He opens his eyes to a hand pressed against his forehead; a clammy, cold feeling. The AC is silent, the air in the shop hot and muggy. The man’s brows come together, mild concern painting his features. “You’re running awfully hot, huh?” 

“No? It must be the heat.” 

“Whatever you say.” He removes his hand, leaning next to Gael against the counter, arms loosely folded against his chest. “You should try and get more sleep. It’s almost time for your shift to end, right?”

“How did you know that?”

He smirks. “Call it intuition.” His eyes flick up to the clock with a sigh, shoving himself to his feet. He tucks a hand into his pocket, mid-motion in opening the front door. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

He visibly tenses up. “What?”

“What’s your name?”

Just as the man opens his mouth to speak, Gael wakes up a third time in bed.


End file.
